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I switch on the car and look around to make sure all is clear to drive away, and as I look over my shoulder, I screech at Bobby’s face so near to my window. His lips are pulled up into a severe grin and his chocolate eyes dance with laughter. He watched me pant and check myself in the mirror.
I swear, only my life!
He plants a juicy kiss on my window, something I expect from Jimmy, not him, then turns on his heel and digs his hands into pockets as he walks away.
I can’t even deal with how many times I’ve made an idiot of myself in front of that man, and yet… he continues to smile at me.
I pull out of the lot and race home. The sooner I get home, the sooner I can get back for the impromptu date I claim I didn’t want. I pull into the driveway and run to my room, flicking my heels off, and accidentally pinging one so high, it bounces off the ceiling fan.
Oops.
I unzip my skirt and rip the blouse over my head, then I stop in front of my full-length mirror and study my underwear.
Should I change them? Matching bra and panties, instead of beige grannie undies and a ‘supportive’ bra instead of the sexy kind?
No. I shake my head and move away from the mirror. I’m being silly. He won’t even see them – not tonight, at least. I rummage through my pile of ‘not dirty enough to wash, but not clean enough to fold and put away’ clothes, and select my favorite cut off shorts – I live in these things outside of work. Finding a comfy sweater from the same pile, I drag it over my head and mess up my hair even more. I grab my white high tops, flee my room, run into the bathroom to flick on some extra mascara, and pull my hair down. Running a comb through it painfully, I give it volume – also known as frizz – then pull it up into a high pony.
I sprint through my kitchen in search of gum – just in case he wanted to kiss me again and didn’t want to taste hour old pizza – but I come to a skidding stop when I pass the fridge.
Shit!Should I bring something? Since the guys are supplying pizza, should I bring wine or soda? Oh, my God, I don’t know, and in this moment, I feel like the whole world rests on this decision.
Bring the wrong thing, look like a dick. Bring nothing, look like a dick.
If I could take a damn breath, I’d realize it honestly doesn’t matter.
But I don’t take that breath. Instead, I grab a six pack of alcoholic apple ciders and a five pack of diet cream soda cans – because Jack already opened the pack and took one.
I blow out the front door with my hands full of beverages and shoes, and toss everything onto the passenger seat. Stopping to lean against the car, I work on the laces on my high-tops, only to realize I forgot socks.
With a huff of frustration, I run inside and back out in record time, socks in hand. Pulling them on inside out and crookedly, I slam my feet into the shoes and race back to the gym.
Looking at the clock as I turn off the car engine, I bite my lip when I realize I’ve been gone only fifteen minutes. I’m proud of my hustle. Then I’m embarrassed. Was I too quick? Could I be any more desperate?
Jon walks across the lot and smiles at me before I can escape and wait around the block for another twenty minutes, so accepting my fate, I pull the keys from the ignition and slide out of the car.
He stops and balances a dozen pizza boxes in his arms while he waits for me to grab my things, and when I stand triumphantly balancing a pesky soda can that rolled from the pack, he smiles mischievously. “Hey. How’s it going?”
“Hey Jon, I’m good.”Be cool. Act cool.“Thanks for inviting Jack and me tonight.”
“Ah, that’s okay. It’s a good thing the rest of us like you, because I’m pretty sure we had no choice. Bobby was making tonight happen, whether we liked it or not.”
I smile and watch my feet for a moment. I feel like he’s telling his brother’s secrets, and going by his smile, he’s not sorry. I peek up through the corner of my eye as we walk. “Thanks. I like you guys, too.”
“So…”
I cock my head to the side at his suddenly turned shy voice. “So what?”
“Seen Casey lately?”
I smile. “Yeah I see her all the time. Like daily. She’s my best friend.”
“What’s she doing tonight?”
I shrug easily. “I’m not sure, actually. Usually we do pizza and fight night at my house, but I totally forgot about the fight this time, so we didn’t make plans. She’s probably home alone in her cute Peter Pan pj’s.”
His head whips in my direction. “Does she really wear Peter Pan pyjamas?”
I kick rocks as we move toward the door. Smirking, I answer, “No, she doesn’t. But maybe I should get her some for Christmas. It’s a cool idea.”
